Like Silver Glass
by Little Cherry Tree
Summary: LotR&BtVS. Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, by the dark foes of Sauron, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…
1. Chapter 1

**Like Silver Glass**

**Title**: Like Silver Glass

**Authors**: Aly & Katrina

**Genre**: Dark Drama, mostly. Warning: not a fluffy story.

**Rating**: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes

**Pairings**: We have decided if there will be a pairing/pairings or not. You will be told at a much, much later time.

**Teaser**: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

**Excuse**: Okay, so we decided to write another story together. We decided that we wanted to try something a little different. Or, rather, she talked me into it and after a lot of prodding and basic pleading; I finally decided to add a third project to my over-heaped little plate. This story will be updated (hopefully) twice a month, probably on Sundays. Those seem to be the least busy for us. Also, if things go according to plan, this will be a _trilogy._

**Summary**: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is (hopefully) our own.

**Timeline**: In Buffy fandom, this would be set during the Season 3 episode 'Enemies'. In the Lord of the Rings fandom, it would be set approximately five years before the start of the Fellowship of the Ring (as in the actual group… not the movie. Sheesh!). So, technically, whilst the Fellowship was begun in 3018, this story will begin in the latter part of May of 3014.

**Notes**: The episode mentioned and transcribed a bit in the first chapter is from Buffy Season 3, Enemies. Well, the first part was…

_Thank you for taking the time to read the legal tender. Now onwards with the story!_

x-x-x

**Chapter 1**

_By Alyson Kay and Katrina Claire_

x-x-x

Faith watched calmly as Angel strung Buffy up in chains. It was a great, kinky idea… one she should have come up with on her own. Finally, Angel stepped back to admire his handy work. As he moved away, Buffy came to, glancing around drowsily.

"Morning, sleepyhead," came Angel's bored voice as he pushed the chains slightly, admiring the way the blonde Slayer's body trembled at the motion. "You know what I just can't believe? All of our time together and we never tried chains. Well, can't dwell on the past, especially with the future we have ahead."

Faith smirked, crossing her arms as she stepped forward. "Bondage looks good on you, B. The outfit's all wrong, but, hey!"

"You don't know what you're doing," Buffy breathed, trying her left hand, and then her right. Both were locked pretty securely behind her back. Desperate eyes appealed to her sister Slayer, but Faith was completely ignoring her.

"Really? Weird, because something about all this just feels so right," Faith replied coldly. Then her face broke into a malicious grin, her eyes sparkling in the dangerous cross between delight and psychosis. "Maybe it's one of those unhappy childhood things. See, when I was a kid I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind. I just wanted, you know, something to love." Turning, she seized the front of Angel's coat and pulled him to her. As their lips met, she felt the cool touch of his kiss before she broke away. As her eyes met Buffy's, she reveled in the fact that the blonde looked wounded. "A dog's all I wanted. Well, that and toys." Stepping over, she flipped the edge of the blanket on the table at her knees, watching Buffy's eyes widen at the assortment of instruments scattered nearly about. To torture her... "But mom was so busy, you know, enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life, that I never really got what I wanted, until now."

"Faith, listen to me very closely. Angel's a killer. When he's done with me, he'll turn on you." The desperation was evident in her voice, but she felt she had to do something.

"She's right. I probably will," Angel sneered, his fingers closing around Faith's biceps as the younger Slayer smirked eagerly towards the blonde now chained to the wall.

"Yeah?" Faith preened, obviously enjoying her power. "Huh. Guess we'll just have to keep you around for a while then. Before we get started, I just want you to know, if you're a screamer, feel free."

"Why, Faith?" she asked. "What's in it for you?"

Faith grinned at her, throwing her arms out in a casual gesture. "What isn't? You know, I come to Sunnydale. I'm the Slayer. I do my job kicking ass better than anyone. What do I hear about everywhere I go? Buffy. So I slay, I behave, I do the good little girl routine. And who's everybody thank? Buffy."

"It's not my fault," Buffy muttered.

"Everybody always asks, why can't you be more like Buffy? But did anyone ever ask if you could be more like me?" Faith asked, the rage in her tone strengthening as she stormed towards the blonde. "Did they? Did anyone?"

"I know I didn't."

Both Slayers glanced over at Angel. Faith's lips twitched as she struggled to control her anger. But the look in Buffy's eyes was different. She was fearful of what Faith could potentially do. She was afraid of what Faith really was. She was just afraid.

"You get the Watcher. You get the mom. You get the little Scooby gang. What do I get? Jack squat. This is supposed to be my town!"

"Faith, listen to me!" Buffy pleaded, struggling again with her chains.

"Why? So you can impart some special Buffy wisdom, that it?" Faith scoffed, shaking her head. "Do you think you're better than me? Do you? Say it, you think you're better than me."

"I am," Buffy replied tearfully. "Always have been."

"Um, maybe you didn't notice. Angel's with me." To prove her point, she wandered back to where Angel was standing; lovingly caressing one of the knives Faith had set on the table. His eyes flickered casually towards her as Faith's arm slipped provacatively around his waist and slid lower below his hips.

"And how did you get him, Faith? Magic? Cast some sort of spell? Cause in the real world, Angel would never touch you and we both know it."

There. She had finally said the magic words that made Faith snap. She stormed away from Angel, lifting her arm. Buffy barely felt the blow as her head snapped over, her ears ringing from the shot. Blinking, she forced herself to meet Faith's gaze.

"You had to tie me up to beat me. There's a word for people like you, Faith. Loser."

After a moment, Faith smiled again. "Uh huh. You're just trying to make me mad so I'll kill you. I'm too smart for that. Stick around. There's a big show yet to come." Her eyes sparkled as she cupped Buffy's chin in her fist.

"For what? Your boss's lame Ascension. Like I couldn't stop it," Buffy taunted. She knew she was buying time. Someone had to come soon. Didn't they?

"You can't." The tone in her voice held a final note, like the coda of a well-played tune. The look on her face was beyond obvious. She was in control and she knew she held the ace.

"I will." Those words were spoken from years of fighting and the determination to defeat anything bad that came her way.

But Faith wasn't buying it. "Keep dreaming. No one can stop the Ascension. Mayor's got it wired, B. He built this town for demons to feed on and come graduation day, he's getting paid. And I'll be sitting at his right hand. Assuming he has hands after the transformation. I'm not too clear on that part. And all your little lame ass friends are going to be kibbles 'n' bits. Think about that when your boyfriends cutting into you."

Her gaze transforming from her calm determination to pity, Buffy forced herself to meet Faith's gaze one last time. "I never knew you had so much rage in you."

"What can I say?" Faith shrugged, stepping backwards and sighing contentedly. "I'm the world's best actor."

"Second best."

Faith slowly turned her head to gaze at Angel, surprise marring her pale features. As she saw the gloating look on his face, however, she knew that the Mayor had been correct all along; Buffy and Angel were in this together. No matter what they did magically to Angel, they would never be able to get him on their side unless Faith managed to sleep with him. So, apparently, it wasn't meant to be.

Buffy, on the other hand...

"Graduation day. You think we missed anything?"

"I think we know everything she knows," Angel replied, the dark smile gone from his face only to be replaced by the brooding scowl he normally wore. "But it never hurts to get it all."

"May I say something?" Buffy wrenched her hands free of the chains, wiggling her fingers in clear view of her sister Slayer. "Psych."

"And may I say something?" Faith asked, the smile growing on her face. She walked towards the table with the torture instruments and lifted a knife as both Buffy and Angel watched her, waiting for her to make the next move. "I knew you would never turn on her, no matter what I did. So I thought about it and thought some more and you know what? You may have played me, but I'm still the best." Her eyes sparkled as she unscrewed the base of the knife and removed a tiny crystal vial. "See this? It solves anything. It even solves this."

Even as Angel lunged for her, Faith managed to pull her arm back and forward, quickly releasing the vial. As it hurtled towards Buffy, the Slayer attempted to move out of the way, but the small crystal piece exploded at her feet. As Angel grabbed onto Faith, the Slayer gave one last triumphant scream as the blonde Slayer screamed in agony, green smoke surrounding her.

"Angel!"

"Buffy!"

Faith grinned over Angel's forearm as it crushed into her throat. Pushing forward, her fingers yanked the stake that was beneath her leather coat. Seeing the stunned look on Buffy's face as she vanished, Faith turned just as the Scooby gang rushed into the mansion, armed to the teeth. After Angel had punched Xander, she was sure the stupid Zeppo had gone back and blabbed that Angel was evil. And here they were, lifting stakes and crosses to take him down.

Not if she was going to do it first.

Using her free arm, she punched Angel across the jaw, sending him sprawling away from her. Lifting the stake in her hand, she aimed for his chest, her eyes gleaming. "Psych this," she whispered, and she lunged forward...

x-x-x

It was the most painful sensation of her entire life.

Buffy gasped as she was plunged into the coldest saltwater she had ever felt. It was far worse than the Pacific. As she broke the surface and gasped for breath, her exhale misted and floated away. Before she could take another lungful of lifesaving oxygen, she felt something grasp at her feet and tug her down beneath the surface.

Each molecule pressed into her skin like a thousand knives. It was far worse than anything she could have expected from Faith, but she had to hand it to her sister Slayer. Drowning again in a vast pool of freezing water was definitely a good way to scare her.

Scare her… but not kill her, right?

Buffy broke the surface again, feeling her frustration mounting as her hands slapped the surface. Every single cell in her body screamed in protest as the undercurrent tugged at her feet again, threatening her with certain death should she drag under again. Holding her breath and searching about her, she saw that it was nighttime in the middle of a large ice-cold body of saltwater.

"Faith!" she rasped, struggling to stay afloat as the current passed. She spun in a circle, taking short, painful breaths. "Faith!"

But there was nothing except the silence and the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She spun again, feeling her muscles seizing at the motion. "No!"

The last thing she had seen was Faith with a stake and that dangerous look in her eye. She should never have underestimated her. The Mayor always had a backup plan. Apparently the plan was not to scare the eldest Slayer but to get rid of her. Permanently.

She felt a dull ache in her heart. After seeing Faith and Angel together, it had stirred up the hornet's nest of emotions deep within her. It was beyond jealousy. How could she be envious when she knew the only reason Angel would ever touch the traitor would be through the use of something like demonic magic? But this… this was something else entirely.

The current tugged at her feet. She could barely feel the sensation as her legs were growing numb from the cold. Sucking in a final breath, she felt her body plunge beneath the surface. Her Slayer-enhanced eyes searched through the water and saw how endlessly deep it was.

And then it struck her – Faith had sent her to her death.

She cried out, cold water filling her lungs. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come out. She clawed her way to the surface, choking as the salt water spluttered from her mouth, her lungs screaming for release. She knew she couldn't take much more of this. Even with Slayer strength and stamina, she wouldn't last long in an unknown sea, trapped what could be thousands of miles from land. She had no idea where she was and no idea where else to go.

The current tipped at her feet again. Hopelessness was starting to settle in along with a feeling of great incredulity. "How could have I been so wrong?" she whispered between chattering teeth.

If only she had been stronger…

If only she had been quicker…

If only Faith hadn't gone psychotic and joined the Mayor pre-Ascension…

These questions weren't going to help her here. She had to do something, she had to move! But where in the hell was she supposed to go?

The current was strong again. She was fighting a losing battle. After claiming that she was better than Faith, she was bested by her at one thing. Faith definitely beat her in the insidious planning department. She was going to pay dearly if Buffy ever saw her again.

She felt her left foot pull violently down and her arms raised in a futile attempt to keep her frame above the surface. As she splashed underneath, she felt a sudden, great calm overwhelm her. It scared her. In that moment, she knew she was going to die. She felt the sleepiness come and unconsciousness welcomed her into its warm arms.

x-x-x-x

And now, for a shameless plug of my own. Well, not so shameless. I've spent a lot of time on this as compared to its predecessor. This was the story I wanted to tell, but I had to get to that point first. Now, for your viewing pleasure, I give you a part of the first chapter of the next story…

x-x-x

**I, Alone**

x-x-x

…

In the two months since they'd journeyed out from Rohan, they had rarely spent time apart. They rode mostly in silence and mostly at full speed. Since neither really required rest, they stopped mostly for the benefit of their steeds. In the few conversations they had, he had politely inquired where they were going.

The truth was… she didn't have a clue.

Their journey had taken them through Ithilien and to the north of Mordor. Black mountains lined the south with wide expanses of dried, cracked ground. Twisted remnants of trees stuck out at odd angles, snarling the clear desert pass. Thin bits of ash still fell from the sky, the last hurrah by the great Mount Doom.

Buffy rolled onto her back, her gaze moving from the pitch darkness to the sky. Through the slight haze that seemed to permeate every single moment of every day, she saw the glittering orbs of thousands of stars above. Through their silent nights, she had started to count the glowing orbs above, but lost count around sixty due to boredom. She really never had been good at math.

Tonight was no different. He had disappeared to parts unknown and she had fallen into a pitiful slumber, resting only her eyes to calm her nerves. The farther east they traveled, the most she felt like she was leading her companion to his death, not that she didn't try to talk him out of it. She had tried to tell him to go back. But the farther they went, the more he resisted her pleas. She didn't want him getting into something that was meant for her alone.

Maybe this was why he left at night; to get away from her incessant nagging. He was too polite to tell her that she was irritating him. Instead, he just took off, leaving her on her sleeping mat with thousands of stars glowing above.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was something new in the breeze, something in the decay surrounding them.

Something was watching their movements closely. And, if her growing suspicions were correct, that something wouldn't leave them be until they reached the hills on the far northern side of Mordor and continued eastward still. Neither one really knew what lay beyond the borders of Mordor. The one who did was Elessar and he hadn't come with them. He had a new wife and country to worry about.

She turned to her side again in an attempt to close her eyes when she heard the sound. Her body froze, perfectly poised. She heard the wind blowing. She heard the horses rustling. And, in the depths of the darkness, she heard a growl. Her hand moved silently beneath her mat, retrieving the knife she kept hidden beneath her body just for this very moment. Her eyes pierced through the darkness, spying the two forms of horses tethered a short distance away. The dying fire was nothing more than lustrous red embers.

Her fingers grasped the cold hilt of the blade and pulled it to the ground. The growl grew more menacing. Through the darkness, she saw the horses begin to rustle, as though they too sensed the danger was near.

And there, in the silence of the night, she saw a pair of glowing eyes…

"Legolas?" she murmured quietly. She hoped his keen Elven ears would pick up the danger or at least those intuitive senses would.

The growl was followed by a low shriek.

"Crap," she hissed, pushing off of her mat and casting the blanket aside. She ran away from the camp just as the being with the glowing eyes leapt after her. It took her a few moments to realize it was a warg. But instead of heading for her, it went for the horses. Once she realized that it had changed directions, she then ran to intercept, but not before she heard a loud squeal and the sound of flesh being ripped from bone. She reached the warg, which was tearing into her horse, just as a large arrow whistled over her shoulder and landed in its neck.

Turning around, she saw a familiar Eldar-lit form strolling towards her, his passive face almost pitying as he gazed at the toppled warg and the horse that lay at its side.

"Took you long enough," Buffy said huffily, crossing her arms as Legolas joined her.

"You were sleeping and I did not want to disturb you," he replied calmly.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, kicking at the warg's corpse.

"Mordor," Legolas replied, staring at the black mountains that rose to the south, blocking their view of the horizon. "And it is unlikely it was alone."

To prove his point, she heard another deep rumbling and spun about; catching several other pairs of eyes blinking in the distance. Letting out a soft gasp, she spun around and stared in disbelief at Legolas's knowing look. He stepped forward, moving beside her with his hands on his Elven knives strapped to his hips. Buffy slipped her knife into her opposite hand, prepared to do whatever it took to protect them both.

It was hard to believe that after all these weeks of travel, it had come down to the two of them and half-dozen wild wolves…

x-x-x-x

I, Alone summary - Buffy has been given a great gift – her old Slayer dreams. Now trapped with the knowledge of a great land to the east, she travels to the east and comes upon a land ruled by an iron fist. But there she learns a terrible truth and the bitterness of her fate. Cascading events are about to change her life forever, but she's not so willing to release the past either.

x-x-x-x

And just so you actually know what this story is about, we've included the next part. Please review what you've read so far, for we like your opinions on whether or not this is a colossal waste of time or the beginnings of a dark adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Like Silver Glass**

**Rating**: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes; this is a dark drama. Though it does have happy moments, most of it is not a shiny, happy story.

**Pairings**: We have decided. You will know.

**Teaser**: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

**Summary**: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is our own… see the notes below to confirm.

**Timeline**: This story begins in the approximate time of May 3013. As Buffy is now near Belfalas and will soon be entering a pre-war storyline in Gondor, some things need to be said. As stated above, she will be in Dol Amroth. There dwells Prince Imrahil, his wife and his family – including three sons Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos and his youngest, his daughter Lothíriel. I'm just guessing that as Imrahil was born in 2955, he will be in nearing 60 by the time of this story. That being said, it is likely his sons would be in their 20s. Lothíriel at the time of the story is between 14 and 15 years of age. Buffy is newly 18.

**Notes**: Here are some things that will and will not happen in our story; Buffy joining the Fellowship. Though she will be involved in some sort of fellowship, it will not be the original Fellowship. She will not have superpowers. That just doesn't belong in the story. Other characters from Buffy-verse may come into the story at a later date. Not everyone will love Buffy and she will not love everyone. There will be two original characters and several more added just to keep flow with the story. And unlike the previous stories I have written in this genre, this one will include significant plot changes to the original trilogy. We are planning this as a trilogy and if it does work out, the entire original trilogy will take place in this nice first story.

x-x-x

**Chapter 2**

_By Alyson Kay_

x-x-x

Like silver glass, the water broke upon rocks, spilling crystalline foam over sun-bleached stones. With it came a figure that spilt upon the rocks. Slowly the tide drew out, receding and leaving in its place the single figure. Long hair was twisted like coiled rope, trailing entangled amongst smaller rocks. Her skin was translucent, scarred from hours spent underwater. Jagged cuts spread across bloated skin. Blue lips were pressed tightly to the sand.

With a single wave, the tide rushed back in, sweeping the figure back and forward with such a rush that as it drew back, her bruised eyes opened. Slowly, she tipped her chin up and took in a deep, ragged breath. Stunned eyes took in the wall of boulders less than ten feet from her. Gulls screeched overhead as the waves crashed again. As her body was drawn backwards, her body came to life. She struggled to hold onto whatever she could as the water tugged at her legs, threatening to pull her back to sea. Aching fingers grasped at twisted, dying roots protruding from the ground and helpless feet kicked at the salty water. Yet despite her best efforts, the tide swished over her head, dousing her with tepid saltwater and pulling her body back against her will. As the waters receded, she fell, panting, back to the earth.

As soon as her exhausted body hit the rocks, she felt as though another breath could be her last. Everything hurt in the most possible way. As her fingers curled into the sand, the damnable sea growled again. She knew she didn't have it in her to survive this much longer. She had already drowned once; she didn't need to do it again. And here she thought that she was going to drown again. Somehow, for some crazy, odd miracle she had survived a death plunge into the ice-cold sea of doom. Pressing her forehead down to the rock, she exhaled slowly, feeling the cramp in her hip spread across her back and down her legs.

Then the sea returned with a vengeance.

With a sudden crash, she ploughed into the cliff and cried out as her body twisted and turned into a sharp jetty. On the other side of the rocks, two men glanced up and exchanged a wary glance as they heard a sound from the rocks below. Moving quickly to the edge, they saw a figure lying at the base of the rocks surrounded by swirling water.

Though her ears could hear them shouting at her, her mind was far too gone to even comprehend that they were there and they wanted to know if she was all right. She shuddered at the impact as her arm snapped. She could no longer cry out. As her body lay on the rocks, her eyes blinked blearily as two figures approached, both carrying something large in their hands. One bent down to touch her face and stared into her glazed eyes. They were talking to her, but she couldn't understand. Why couldn't she understand what they were saying? She heard them, but she couldn't talk. She couldn't move. She was in excruciating pain even as he lifted her neck off of the ground. Her eyes plead with him to leave her be and let her rest here, but his expression was kind. A gentle hand leaned down and brushed roughly against her cheek. Her point of view altered as his hand tipped her chin.

She was so tired… she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. And yet their voices kept telling her not to close her eyes. They told her now was not a time to sleep because if she fell asleep she would die.

She couldn't die… not yet. Not when she had so much left to do…

And then she remembered. It hurt far worse than death. A bitter longing filled her entire being even as she felt weightless, her body floating magically above the ground as her two saviors carried her away from the sea. As the sound of rushing water faded, she felt her head turn and stare at the gulls swarming the sky.

The last thing she saw before darkness overcame her were several large ships with great silver sails and two long piers. Despite the fact she was losing consciousness, a part of her wondered curiously why such large ships would be docked to the beach.

x-x-x

An old woman was tending to her stores when she heard the sound of her door opening. She briefly glanced up, barely suppressing a sigh as she saw the waterlogged figure in the man's arms. "Not another one," she muttered under her breath, moving to clean the table from the various assortments of pottery bowls, scrolls and candlesticks. Then, carefully stepping over the goods, she patted the old stone table with a weathered hand. "Set her here."

The man complied with her orders, anxiety etched on his face as the figure was laid upon the table. Her eyes were barely open and staring straight up. Her breath was coming in short, rasping pants. Her lips were the faintest tint of blue. But it was the look on her face that gave away her fate. "Where did you find her?"

"We heard something coming upon the rocks," the first man explained, shrugging at the second figure that had walked in behind him. "We looked out to sea and there she was."

"She looks terrified," the woman replied, pressing a warm hand on the woman's sun-kissed cheek. "Yet she breathes still. I must tend to her immediately."

"Will she live?"

"I do not know," the woman replied, her brow furrowed as she stared hard at the young woman on her table. "Most will give in to fear. We must tell her that she does not have to be afraid."

"But what does she fear, my lady?" the second man asked, walking over and glancing at the young woman. "She is but a child."

"There are many things for one to fear," the old woman replied, setting an old wooden box full of herbal supplies and bandages on the table next to the woman. "Bring me that lamp… I need sufficient lighting to see."

As soon as one brought her the oil lamp from her shop, both men departed back for the docks. The woman began to work on the child until her husband, old and crippled and traveling by walking stick, appeared, rubbing his eyes. "I thought I heard the dock boys."

"You have heard correctly," the woman replied, gently bandaging a deep cut along the woman's neckline. "They brought us a gift."

The old man showed surprise as he stared at the young woman on his table. "They have brought us a woman."

"She was in the sea," the woman replied, carefully tucking the end of the bandage under what remained of the woman's shirt. "But look here… she does not wear proper garments." Her fingers held the edge of the once-fashionable t-shirt and stared at the boots still dripping water from the woman's feet. "And her skin coloring is far different from our own."

"Do you suppose she comes from the south?" the old man asked incredulously.

"In all of my years, I have never seen one body from the south," the old woman sighed. "I do not know."

"Perhaps she is from Rohan."

"To wash up upon our shores?" the woman asked, clearly taken aback. "Her coloring is far darker than any neighbor to the north."

The old man sat at a crudely-hewn stool and watched as his wife cleaned off the girl's face. "We should bring her to Dol Amroth."

"She could face questioning at the hands of our lord," the old woman reminded him. "If she is found to be from the south, she could be executed."

"Or she could be seen as a spy, if she is," the man reminded her. "We must discover the truth behind her falling at our shores! If she is from the south, an army could not be far behind. She could be a pirate for all we know!"

"A pirate?" the old woman scoffed. "I do not believe that anything as young and fair as she could be considered as such."

"You have been mistaken before."

"Your point is true, but she is so very young."

"We were all that young once," the man grumbled. "She needs to be questioned."

"I must care for her needs, first," the old woman sighed. "She nearly drowned at sea. We cannot have her die before she can provide answers."

"Shall I fetch the young men to take her to the city?"

"All in good time," the old woman replied, setting a pile of old rags behind the girl's head. "I do not wish for her first memory in Belfelas to awaken in the house of Dol Amroth with armed detail surrounding her and firing a hundred rapid questions of her bloodline and lineage."

"It may come to that."

"Yes, it might," the old woman replied, slightly distracted as the girl began to writhe on the table. Letting out a low moan, she leaned over the table, knocking the oil lamp from its foundation. The old man sprang to his feet to collect the lamp ere it catches fire. The old woman quickly retrieved an empty pot as the young girl wretched into it. "That is the only way to do it, my dear," she said, stroking the girl's oily hair as she continued to spew copious amounts of seawater into the pail.

The old man slammed the oil lamp back on the table and sighed. "I do not think you should help her."

"What would you have me do? Would you have me let her die?"

"She must go to the city and receive proper treatment from an experienced healer."

The old woman bristled at his tone of voice. "I have spent the past sixty years healing ails and illnesses of my children, our grandchildren and every suitable man, woman and child in this village. If that is not enough experience…"

"We do not know who she is," the man emphasized, stamping his walking stick for effect. "If you were to harbor an enemy…"

"I would never!"

"Then you must not treat her!" he commanded, stamping his walking stick down one last time.

"Then I shall not treat her further," the woman replied, crossing her arms and looking crestfallen. "I will leave her to the healers in the city."

"I will go and get a blanket."

"You would do well to retrieve those boys if she is to be transported."

The old man grunted something back to her and then stomped out of the room. The old woman turned back to the young girl, who was staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. "If only my hands were as nimble as times past I could help you. But your care is beyond my ability now. For that, you must go to the house of our Prince. I cannot help you, for I do not know your story. If you come with ships filled with evil men, your arrival is unwelcome."

The girl shook her head slightly, tears swimming in her mysterious brown eyes.

"Can you tell me your name, child?"

Again, the girl shook her head.

"It will be far easier now to speak your name ere your arrival at Dol Amroth," the old woman cautioned her.

The young woman drew in a sharp breath, tears escaping from the corners of her eyelids. Her body tensed and her lips twisted, obvious signs to the older woman that she was absolutely frightened beyond all recognition or speech or acknowledgment. All the old woman could do was tuck in the corners of the blanket and await the arrival of the young men to take her to the city, easily miles away.

An hour later, her husband returned with the two young men. They both looked astounded to see the woman lying on the table.

"Has she not awakened?"

"Only to become ill in my house," the old man mumbled, stumbling past the two young men with his walking stick. Pausing, he lifted his stick and shook it as his wife. "You will mark my words and you will mark them well—"

"You will not threaten me," the woman replied, drawing up to her full height. "I will not have you mock me within my walls." She turned then to the two young men. "Will you take her to Dol Amroth? She needs a healer's care now."

"Are you worried about who she is?"

"I am more concerned about what trouble she may bring," her husband retorted, leaning heavily upon his stick. "If she is from the south, there is likely an army not a day's length behind."

"But why send a child to our shores? Why not send cannons and men and war machines?"

"Do not ask me about the rules of war, boy," the old woman murmured, placing her hands on her hips. "That will be for our lord to decide."

"We must journey to the city, but we are still awaiting supplies from the docks."

"How long will you need?" the woman asked, her lips pursed.

"Not one day," the second man replied.

"It may be far too late if an invasion is planned," the first said, speaking out of turn as the old woman opened her mouth to speak. "I apologize for your time spent on her, my lady."

"As fair as she is, this is not the first time our people have been fooled. This is not the first time I have been fooled." 

Both men bowed to her and retrieved the girl. She whimpered as they took her into their arms.

"Please, be gentle," the woman said, her eyes full of concern. "She has obviously been through much. If she is part of an invasion planned from the south, we do not have much time. But she is still a child and as much a victim in this war as any child."

The young man tucked the blanket around her face as he steadied her. "She will receive the best care, my lady. Give our regards."

They both bowed and retreated. As they left, the old woman turned to her husband, wringing her hands. "Oh, I wish I could have helped her!"

"You have done the right thing, though it was hard. She must not be allowed to see our village or the docks."

"And yet," the old woman replied, watching as her husband hobbled into the other room, the odious pot in his hand, "she is only a girl."

x-x-x

Through forces unknown, Buffy Summers was still alive.

She remembered sinking into the dark, swirling water and a vicious tide sweeping her into a sharp lot of rocks. She remembered feeling airborne and the tingling sensation as she was lifted and set down. She remembered turning on her side as she vomited up the seawater she'd swallowed. She remembered the kind, old woman's face as she smiled at her, speaking in great gentle tones. But she also knew the look in her eyes; she would not help her.

As she fell back asleep, she began to dream. In her dream, she and Faith were standing off in Angel's mansion. Faith held her knife and despite the fact she'd been deceived, she felt fear. Faith had made her afraid.

She's forgotten how much she hated that.

And then with the old woman and all of her questions… what was that? Where was she? There was no lamp over her head, but some flickering lantern with really pungent oil. Both she and the older man looked unkempt and ragged.

Was she in Africa maybe, perhaps in a missionary house?

She longed to ask these questions.

But her mind continued with her dream.

Faith was standing there with a vial in her hand. Buffy knew from the look in Faith's eyes that she was not going to just let this go. She had a plan of her own. That plan unfortunately included throwing an evil vial at her feet. Buffy heard her own screams, but at the same time saw Faith pulling out a stake as Angel's arm wound its way around her throat. As her cries subsided, her eyes saw what her heart could not yet grasp – Faith had gone for Angel with the stake after beating him back. As the stake sank into his chest, his body began to crumble to dust. Her vanishing hand reached out, her fingers outstretched to grasp for Angel's. But his hand turned to dust and an instant later they were both gone. They both knew the end was coming. His eyes held a silent goodbye. Her eyes longed to reach out and touch him one last time.

But they were gone and Faith was alone.

Feeling an anger like none other, it lit a fire deep within. She knew in her heart that Angel was dead; Faith had planned this from the beginning. She had known that Angel would trick her despite the fact that they had played every trump card they possessed. But it had backfired in their faces. Faith had access to an advanced magic so powerful it could transport Buffy to an unknown sea or ocean. Faith obviously thought that Buffy would drown again but likely what she had not counted on was Buffy's survival.

If she survived what was to come, Faith would never know what hit her. Buffy had great plans to make Faith pay, spurned on by the anger of losing her former lover.

Faith was going to pay, dearly, if Buffy ever saw her again.

x-x-x

Next: Buffy arrives in Dol Amroth and those in power are informed of her arrival.

If you do happen to review (which we highly encourage), we will respond in one form or another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Like Silver Glass**

**Rating**: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes; this is a dark drama. Though it does have happy moments, most of it is not a shiny, happy story.

**Pairings**: We have decided. You will know. We won't divulge the truth now; rather, we'll save it for later.

**Teaser**: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

**Summary**: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is our own.

**Notes**: Sorry… this chapter was added later than I intended. But my little girl's birthday was yesterday… she turned four! It seems like yesterday that she was just a little sprite… my baby girl is growing up so beautifully. After she went with her grandparents to the cabin… we finally had a day to relax. And melt… it seems to be so hot outside! It was 105 degrees yesterday in southern Minnesota… can you believe it?

All who submitted a review have been replied to... the link is in my profile. We express a great gratitude for you guys for responding so kindly to our sophomore story.

x-x-x

**Chapter 3**

_By Alyson Kay_

x-x-x

A cold wind whipped through the rustic wooden carriage as it slowly trudged up another hill. Buffy saw through veiled lashes the steady stream of nothing that drifted past. She was sore from being jarred one too many times in the rickety, creaky old thing. Part of her wondered why they chose this form of torture. The other half wondered why everything looked so vague and unfamiliar.

Two men were talking; but their language was indistinguishable. Despite having her Slayer-enhanced hearing, all she could hear were strange words that didn't make sense. Occasionally she would see a bird or a rabbit, but mostly the journey was painful. She longed for comfort, but knew not how to ask for it.

She still didn't know where she was. She drifted in and out of consciousness, lapsing into dreams of watching her former love die in front of her eyes. She also saw Faith with her knife, taunting her cruelly knowing that she held the trump card despite all of their careful planning.

Part of what unsettled her was the fact that she couldn't feel anything. Well, she felt the air. It was cool against her cheeks and as twilight deepened around her it became downright cold. She shivered in her blanket, almost pleading for sleep to come because facing those horrid nightmares would be far better than surviving the night and freezing to death. She almost preferred freezing to death over drowning. It had been several hours since she was plucked from the ice-cold saltwater and still she had problems feeling her extremities. Numb fingers picked at the ropes binding her wrists together. That was another thing that unsettled her. She knew she was American and she knew that some people from around the world couldn't stand them, but this was ridiculous. If it was some terror killing, they should have just done it already.

The men were talking again. The fire was far away. It sent spirals of grey smoke curling into the frigid night, but even at this distance the warmth was most welcome.

Near dawn, she fell asleep again, restlessly dreaming about Faith's ultimate betrayal.

"She's restive," one of the men commented as they continued their walk to the city, barely visible on the horizon. Both men were aboard the carriage drawn by two horses and though they moved at a brisk pace, it was far slower than what they thought the journey would take.

"Her gaze was haunted," said the second, shuddering as he remembered that cold hazel gaze staring up at him for hours the previous evening.

"She has been through much," the first said, his hushed tone sending chills down his comrades' back. She was turning restless in the back, her head twisting back and forth with a set grimace upon her face. "Perhaps we should—"

"We will comply with our orders," the second man reminded him sternly. "We will get her to Dol Amroth without pausing. The sooner she is investigated the better off those of us who assisted her will feel."

"You are right," said the first, settling back on his bench.

"If she is a traitor, she must be dealt with. Imagine how foolish those of us who helped her would feel if our compassion was turned against us?"

"Our compassion has not been misused," the first man said, watching as she slept fitfully. "She is but a child."

"A child she may be until her story is told," the second sighed, lifting the reins as the horses sped up. "Only time will tell…"

x-x-x

They reached the grand city of Dol Amroth, jewel port town of Belfalas. The cart rose steadily to the gate and waited as the great knights came forward. Once shown their cargo in the form of a sick young woman, they were allowed passage without question. The cart passed up the road and into the city.

Set atop a plateau, the city overlooked the Bay of Belfalas. Surrounded by a gate of stone, cobblestone streets darted in great circles around houses and shops and schools. Though most of Gondor had seen a grave decline in culture, Dol Amroth was one of the few gems left. Guarded by the knights of its Prince, it stood stoic and bold amongst the former splendor of its native motherland.

In the center of the city atop a rise stood the great home of the Prince of these lands, the venerable Imrahil. Four towers stood on each corner and from each rooftop stood a flag, a silver swan upon the water. Here the cart drove up and stopped at the great iron gates that held those who worked within the Prince's estate in and those who dwelled in the city out.

"What business have you here?" one of the knights asked, sweeping over on his steed with his eyes on the two young men and their creaking cart behind them.

"We have brought something of great suspicion to our Prince," the first man replied, sliding off of his seat and moving to the back. Taking an edge of the worn blanket, he drew it back to reveal a young woman sleeping soundly. "She came to our shores not three days ago, my lord."

"Is this so?" the knight asked in a hushed voice. Horrifying stories of wicked men on their native soil tarnishing and burning their beautiful lands came to his mind and he nearly snorted as he saw the young woman curled so peacefully in the cart.

"She came by sea," the man said earnestly. "She has not uttered a word, nor has she spoken her name."

"Is that so?" the knight asked, his tone far more interested this time.

"She is ill, my lord… look at her size! She is hardly a lady yet there is nothing for it."

The knight drew the covers back over the woman and drew a breath. "Bring her into the halls of healing. I will inform Prince Imrahil."

There was a flurry of movement as the woman was brought to a small, connected building underneath great marble archways. Inside was a single room, airy and bright, filled with green and instruments of healing. No sooner had they laid her on a cot did a single figure hurry in front the main estate.

"I came as soon as I could," the woman said, brushing her long, blue gown as she stared at the young woman. "Speak."

They explained their story again as being a young woman who had suddenly appeared in their lands after being washed up from the sea. The only sign of life they had seen from her thus far was when she had vomited amounts of seawater from her stomach before falling silent.

"To see the likes of two men so obviously uncivilized," the woman said harshly, cutting into their story with sharp rebuke. "It would terrify even my own daughter to keep from speaking the truth."

The two men exchanged a glance and both knew what the other was thinking; no reward was worth this treatment from this woman, though she was married to their great Prince.

"No, lady," they both murmured, casting their eyes downward.

"If you harmed her in any way…"

"No, my lady," the first blurted, shaking his head as the second just stood there, barely restraining to slap his palm over his face. "We complied with our orders from the mistress of ports down at the shore…"

"You had better have," the woman said coldly, placing her hands on her hips. "Well? Be gone with you. If you seek a reward, speak with my husband. I am sure he will be willing to dote upon you such treasures as you seek in payment for this… _chore._"

"But, my lady, we seek no treasures of your house," the first blundered on.

"Is that so? Have I not asked you to leave? Leave now, or else I shall call for the guards!"

As the two men hurried out under the great archway, they began to breathe again once they were clear of the halls.

Inside the halls, the woman turned, the harsh look upon her face softening to a look of motherly concern. She reached with her hand to touch the girl's face. She stirred beneath the touch, but the skin itself burned with a heat she knew should not be there. Turning, she retrieved a pitcher and filled a goblet of water. She knew she should call for the healers of her great land, but she was unwilling to leave this child's side. Her clothes were torn and shredded in places, blood dotting the smooth bodice of her flimsy top. Her hair had more the appearance of Elvish rope, twisted and sticky with salt and seaweed as it fell aside from the cot. A single arm was draped over the edge, lifelessly hung.

She took the girl's wrist and felt for a pulse. Her eyes widened at the speed the girl's pulse was racing. Her experienced hands moved the girl's tattered clothing and found several gashes. The arm that was drawn to her body was discovered to be broken. There were numerous cuts and bruises on her pale forehead. Her lips were bluish, yet her breath was moving still. Pressing a hand to her chest, she felt the passage of air and knew that the girl had labored breathing.

"You are gravely injured, child," the woman said quietly, lifting her hands and examining the girl with a critical eye. As she continued her work, a single figure slipped into the halls of Healing and found the woman at a single cot.

"What's this?"

"A gift from the coast," the woman replied, gesturing to a large table of herbs and various bottles of miscellaneous liquids. "Will you bring me those?"

The young man grasped two bottles and set them upon a table at the girl's bedside. "Who is she?"

"I have not yet heard her speak, much less utter her name," the woman said grimly. "She looks to have been through quite an adventure, has she not?"

"If I had not first seen her breath, I would have thought her to be a corpse," the man replied grimly. "Father requested to visit, but I asked him to let you complete your work."

"That was wise, Erchirion," she replied, glancing up at her son. As her son continued to move about, grinding herbs and adding water to create a paste, she began to wrap the girl's arm. Her greatest pride came from passing her knowledge of medicine and horticulture to her middle-born son. Erchirion, though the soldier Imrahil had raised him for, was also quite skilled with hands of a healer. "Bring that here."

He brought the bowl over and ladled paste onto the linen strips as she used the strip to bind the girl's arm.

"What else can we do for her?"

"We must treat these abrasions 'ere they become scars," she said, rising and moving to the table. Though Erchirion had scattered her things about, she found what she was looking for. "We need to alleviate her breathing or she will suffocate."

"How could someone so small endure such pains as these?" Erchirion mused as his mother moved about behind him. His hand reached forward to touch her face. As he moved, he did not notice that her uninjured hand slowly clenched into a fist. Her entire body began to tense as strange hands moved down her chest and beneath what little remained of her shirt. "These lesions… are they not natural?"

"Is that not an embolism?" she asked, standing by as her son ripped apart the shirt, exposing the young woman's lingerie that covered her upper-body and smooth, bare skin that was faintly golden in color and yet marred with dark bruising from her hips towards her breasts. "Extreme water pressure against the skin," the woman pointed out, her fingers gently prodding at the bruises. "This is not an embolism, but a mere fact of nature. We need to protect the skin should the skin break."

"I will get the bandages," Erchirion volunteered. He rose and then left both women alone.

"I do wish you to awaken," the woman murmured, touching the girl's neck again. It was then that she noticed a slight scar near her collarbone. "What's this?"

"I have brought the bandages along with a pest," Erchirion's muffled tone spoke from behind her. The woman turned and saw that her youngest son, Amrothos, had returned with him.

"I need not your protection, my son," she said, beaming up at Amrothos' most curious expression. Sweeping her long raven hair over her shoulder, she bent down to administer care to the young woman's bruised ribs and severe bruising to her abdomen. After a moment, her body relaxed and her fist unclenched. Despite wishing to burst out and demand answers, she thought it best to just let them treat her. Regardless of her distrust for hospitals, she felt she needed this in order to return her strength. Her Slayer healing skills seemed to have been jarred from her time in the sea.

Together with her sons, she managed to bandage the girl's body, create a medicinal bandage to heal her abdomen, found herbs to help restore her breathing and treated the many cuts and scrapes that marred the girl's youthful face.

Night was falling outside and the only light inside the halls were the small vats of flame that danced throughout the room, casting dark shadows and crimson light. She sent her sons off, wishing to use the time to speak with the girl, but she refused to awaken.

"I know you must be afraid," the woman said quietly, taking the girl's uninjured hand and holding it. "But we must learn who you are if you are to remain within this city. You would not survive another long journey, least of all not to Minas Tirith and unless you speak, that is where you are destined."

The girl's face flickered, as though being roused from a deep, deep slumber.

"I do hope we can speak before morning," the woman continued in a low, urgent tone. "My sons will return then, and they will not speak kindly of a woman who washed up from the sea. Ai, if you are from the south, we must know. You may be afraid, my dear, but it is little compared to what you face come morning." Her eyes watching for a sign the girl was waking up. She did not see one. As she heaved a great sigh, she rose to her feet and pressed a kiss to the girl's brow. "Perhaps come morning you will wish to speak. There are only so many threats you will endure before the knights carry them out."

Turning, she left the room, leaving the young woman behind to sleep.

x-x-x

It was towards dawn when Buffy finally awoke. She resisted the urge to cry out, as her nightmares had driven her to the brink of screaming in agony until someone shook the darkness from her. Instead she found herself in a cool, dark haven. A small lamp on a table on each side of her cot was barely lit, casting red shadows around her bed. Pushing the blanket off of her body with her uninjured arm, she sat up, moaning slightly as her muscles protested their first use since she'd been thrown into the sea. She glanced down at her chest and noticed that her arm was held up with a strap over her opposite shoulder. She flexed the fingers of her broken arm and winced at the shoot of pain that shot across her shoulder blades and up her bicep. No matter what had happened, her broken arm was still broken.

Her legs felt tight and wobbly as she stood up. It was all she could do to balance herself and not fall crashing back onto her cot. Using her Slayer-enhanced night vision, she made her way to one of the arches that led to a grand marble deck that overlooked the city and, beyond that, the sea. She ducked under the archway, forcing her feet to move until she reached the edge and a large, ornate rail. Her fingers clasped the railing as disbelieving eyes stared out at the slight hint of pink near the horizon. But what she did see was house after house with a thatched roof.

There was complete silence.

There were no cars, no honking horns, no sirens or people shouting in languages she couldn't understand. Gone was the civilization she had thrived in. There was nothing she lived on, nothing she strived for. There was just… nothing.

Her eyes searched for something that she could recognize. Even the poorest villages of her world had people and those people had voices. She would give anything at this moment for a wailing child…

But all she heard was silence.

Something tightened in her chest. She felt as though she was unable to breathe. She shook her head slightly as she glanced down. Stunning gardens lined the hill behind the grand estate and to her immediate left was a large tower constructed of stone. Her hand trembled as she struggled to hold onto the railing, but it was difficult when she suddenly felt like everything had been ripped away.

"Faith," she whispered in a voice lost with grief, incredulity and her own dry throat, "what have you done to me?"

Immediately after speaking these words, her throat began to burn. Her uninjured hand crept up to her mouth just as the first sob escaped her chest. It was followed in quick succession by others before she finally broke down. Broken sobs escaped her control and she felt her body screaming in protest as she doubled up. Her tears tasted salty as the dripped down her stinging cheeks. Staring bleakly at the horizon of a world she knew she didn't belong to, she couldn't help but feel completely helpless, hopeless and distraught. She struggled to contain her sobs, but they just kept on coming. She pressed her hand over her eyes, struggling to breathe, but every breath caused such great pain she felt as though she could pass out at any moment.

And there, in her greatest moment of self-pity, was a stranger, one hand on her back and the other reaching for her hand.

"Come," said a gentle, masculine voice. Through her tears, she saw a pale face and a very tall man with long, dark hair staring at her in the darkness. There was but a hint of compassion on his face. He was trying to lead her back inside, to keep her from a world that she didn't want to see. Before he could move her far, she turned and pressed her face into his chest as her heartfelt cries spilled forth.

It was obvious that the man didn't know what to do, other than pat her awkwardly on the back and hold her as she grieved. A moment later, she stepped back, her laughter stuck in her throat as she basked in her own humiliation. Yet he refused to release her, gently pushing her back inside. It was a mark of her own horror and shock that she allowed herself to be led back into the darkness.

A few minutes later, the man was handing her a cup of tea. He had tried to make small talk with her, but she found that she couldn't speak. If she spoke, she would cry and she was not going to cry in front of anyone, especially a stranger. She just held the tea limply in her hands, her gaze focused on some point above his head.

"They will come for you when the sun rises," he said quietly, taking a small stool from the corner and setting it next to her bed. She swallowed hard and glanced down at her tea. "If they know you have awakened, they will come sooner."

She couldn't ask him not to tell the others she was awake. She knew she'd get more answers if she could ask them, but for some reason she didn't feel like speaking.

"I am called Erchirion," the man said, placing his hand on his chest and sitting. "My father is the dweller of this home."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, setting her tea on the small side table next to her cot. "B-Buffy," she said at last, placing her hand across her chest.

"Is that your name?"

She nodded, pulling her hand away. In the bleak light from the lamps, she saw how cut up and scraped her arm was and quickly dropped it from view, burying her hand beneath a blanket.

"Do not fear this place, Buffy," he said, rising and glancing down at her. Had he made advancement towards her, she would have run away. Instead she sat and blinked up at him. "My father is a fair leader, though strict. He will hear your story come morning. You must tell him who you are and where you are from. If you do not, you may be cast back out to sea." Seeing the frenzied, panic-stricken look in her eyes, he reached down and placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Do not fear my father," he said in what he hoped was a comforting voice. "All will be clear come morning."

After he bade her a good night, he left, disappearing through a door at the far end of the hall. With a heavy sigh, Buffy turned her body and fell back onto the pillows, staring out into the darkness. The pink was spreading across the horizon and with it came the shade of red. Feeling as though this luck was as ominous as her mood, she began to focus her strength, which she knew she would need in the coming days.

x-x-x

Next: Buffy faces questioning, a bleak new reality and the curious meanderings of a fourteen-year-old.

Oh, and we do promise that there are cheerful chapters coming… we just have to get past this stuff first.


	4. Chapter 4

**Like Silver Glass**

**Rating**: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes; this is a dark drama. Though it does have happy moments, most of it is not a shiny, happy story.

**Pairings**: We have decided. You will know. We won't divulge the truth now; rather, we'll save it for later.

**Teaser**: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

**Summary**: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is our own.

**Notes**: My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. To put it mildly, I'm actually happy to be in school again! I've been working on other projects, too, one of which I am really pleased with. Despite the heavy drama in the previous two chapters, I kind of enjoyed the little layaway. Here is Katrina's intro into this lovely world…

x-x-x

**Chapter 4**

_By Katrina Claire_

x-x-x

It was morning when the woman returned. The fires had drawn low and her patient was still in her cot and still resting. She was surprised, however, when the girl turned her head to look at her for a moment before turning to look away.

"You're awake." The girl didn't move. She just kept staring at the archways leading into the dawn. "I know that you would rather not speak, but I do not—" Her eyes widened as she saw the young woman staring at her blankly. She blinked as she suddenly considered the reason why. "Do you not recognize my tongue?" the woman asked softly, moving towards the young woman, who shrank away. "Shhh, do not fear me, child. I am the least of your concern."

Buffy waited as the woman reached for her hand and removed the cloth wrap before gazing at the gravely injured limb. "I set your arm to allow it to heal. But…" Her voice faded as she saw that the arm was in its right place instead of slightly out of joint and blinked incoherently. "How is this possible?"

The girl just murmured incoherently and continued to writhe. Seeing the gaunt, pale look about her, she smiled and touched the girl's face. "Erchirion?" she called out, glancing to the room's entrance. She knew her son was lurking about and hoped he was nearby. When he didn't respond, she knew that Imrahil must have gotten a hold of him. This meant that her husband was coming soon. "Please, rest. I will reset your arm 'ere my husband comes. He wishes to speak with you and the matter is of some urgency."

Rising from the bed, she moved quickly into the shadows and out of sight.

x-x-x

Buffy had been watching the sun rise over the mountains. It was a beautiful sight, something she hadn't really stopped and paid much attention to. There was just too much going on with the Mayor, her friends, Angel…

Taking a sharp breath, she blinked away the tears that were threatening again. How could she even begin to process this when she had no idea where the hell she was? She stretched out on the bed, hearing her neck crack and grimaced. The cot was most uncomfortable and the fact it was large enough to just hold her was little comfort. She missed her comfortable bed back in Sunnydale… far, far away from this version of Hell.

And yet, there was something almost ironic about the sun rising like this. The sun was her source of comfort. But now it just reminded her of what she had lost.

It was at that very moment when someone walked into the room. She moved quickly and talked to herself. When she talked to her, Buffy just heard something that sounded like English but couldn't really figure it out. It sounded funny. Hilarious even. She would have smiled if the situation wasn't so bad. She knew from the woman's guarded stance and from the man talking to her the night before that her arrival here was unexpected and not welcome. These people apparently feared newcomers who weren't six feet tall and a hundred pounds and looking like rejects from the Renaissance era.

She waited for the woman to dote on her. The first thing she did was unwrap her arm. She seemed surprised when the arm had begun to heal. She whispered to herself again before throwing out a single word over her shoulder. This one sounded familiar: Erchirion. He was the one she had spoken with overnight.

The woman scared her. She was tall and quite broad and, in the rising light, quite stunning. She spoke in a language Buffy didn't understand. When she looked at her with what she hoped would be a confused expression, the woman just babbled on. When she sat down next to her and started playing with her arm, however, Buffy felt like she was crossing the line. She didn't want to speak out in case someone was standing in the shadows just daring for the proper moment to shoot her. Instead she lay as still as she possibly could until the woman ran away again.

It was then and only then that she could breathe. She shifted on the cot, feeling her bones protest on the hard surface. "So not liking this," she muttered, coughing as she sat up, reaching for the weird-shaped jug sitting next to her bed. Last night, it had held water. Upon further inspection, she drank greedily until the jug was empty. Setting it aside, she continued to move around, testing her arms and legs. Even her injured arm was feeling better. It still felt tight but the bone had healed sometime during the night. In another day or two, it would be perfectly useful again.

Then she could plan her escape. Once she was hydrated and fed and healed she could get the hell out of here.

A door slammed somewhere nearby. She jumped at the sudden sound and fought the urge to laugh at herself. She was from Sunnydale and never jumped at strange, foreign sounds; she had gone towards them and attacked. Voices grew louder and more urgent. She heard the sound of shouting, both male and female and quickly looked right and left for a weapon. She didn't care if she was being watched. If they were going to take her out, she wasn't going to go quietly. She reached for the jug and held it defensively in her arms, drawing her knees instinctively to her chest.

Then, the door to the healing room burst open and several figures flocked inside. The woman was with them, pleading for the first man in some indistinguishable language. Others were gathering around the cot, drawing swords. Some had bows and arrows.

"What…" she murmured under her breath, glancing around at the faces hidden behind cloaks. They held the weapons defensively. Glancing down at the jug in her hands, she gave a soft, apologetic laugh as she set the jug back on the table and wrapped her uninjured arm tightly around her legs and held her injured arm to her chest.

All at once, they started yelling at her. Different voices from different cloaked figures, all shouting at her in some random language. Why couldn't she understand it? Why couldn't they just lay off of her so that she could figure out what they were saying? Why couldn't they talk English? As their shouting grew in volume, she moaned and removed her arm from her leg, choosing instead to cover her ears with her hands and bury her face in her knees. Of all the places Faith had sent her… into a sea to drown her and into this Hell-like culture without any of the comforts of home… to die in a mystical Oz where the inhabitants couldn't speak anything she could understand. When she chanced a look up, all of their faces were blurring. She closed her eyes again, almost welcoming the cold blade slicing through her dried skin, welcome the cold death that she knew would eventually await her.

There was a sudden bellow and the room fell still.

Buffy glanced up, blinking as the central figure approached her, removing the hood. Slowly, she removed her hands from her ears and placed them back on the bed. Her breathing caught in her throat as she saw the look on the man's face. It wasn't angry. It wasn't fearful. It was questioning, but that she could understand. She knew the second she arrived here she didn't belong here. Anyone who noticed her pants and boots could have figured that out in about ten seconds. He said something again. It sounded a lot like he could be asking 'who are you?' or possibly 'where are you from?'. There could have been the question as to whether or not she was the spawn of Satan, but she digressed.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling her face relax as she looked the man in the eye. "I don't understand you."

"Do you… do you not speak the language of man?"

Buffy shifted her focus to a second man who stepped forward, pulling off his hood.

"Erchie?" she questioned blandly.

The man immediately turned to the figure who suddenly froze, his face a panic-stricken mask. "Erchie?" he asked archly.

"That wasn't my language," Buffy cut in as the man turned scornfully back to her. "That wasn't even English. What was it?" She looked to the man again.

"I speak Westron," the man replied. "I believe my name is Erchirion. Do not call me… Erchie."

"So sorry," Buffy muttered, turning back to the man. He was looking angrier now.

"They were speaking the same tongue," Erchirion added.

"But it makes no sense when you're all yelling at me."

"You are not speaking Westron," the man suddenly said, cutting the banter down. Erchirion cleared his throat and took a step back. "What is your name, child?"

"Buffy…" she said, realizing at that moment how stupid she sounded saying her name.

"If you wish not tell us, that will only advance my thought that you are a servant of the South."

Buffy shook her head in disbelief, trying to force her tired brain around the language. He sounded like Giles, but far stuffier. He sounded almost ridiculous but to the point that everyone save Erchirion likely spoke this way. But she knew Erchirion was in trouble with the man, who was obviously their leader. "If you mean south," she began, "as in warmer weather and suntans, then yes, I'm from the south."

The men exchanged a dark look, their hands tightening over their weapons. Realizing her error and slip of the tongue, she held out her hand and quickly jumped in to calm a situation that could quickly escape her control. "No, no, no," she said hastily, seeing their looks change from questioning to aggressive. "I take it the south is… bad?"

"The south is controlled by our enemies," Erchirion said in a quiet voice.

_Crap,_ she thought to herself. _I sure handled this one well. _"But… water, me, drowning… I…" Was now the time to let it all out, surrounded by weapons and men large enough to take her out with a single stroke? If she acted out in her own form of violence, that would seal her fate because then they would be convinced she was one of their enemies. But she wasn't. Right?

Then again, there was the flip side. She had no idea who these people were. She had no idea if these were the bad guys and the good guys were actually a lot friendlier. She had to give them credit though. In the misty morning light, she saw they had pretty swords. "I'm not evil," she murmured.

"Speak, lady, for we grow irksome of your runabout words."

"I'm not from the south," Buffy raised her voice and looked him in the eye. "I'm not sure where I'm from. The men rescued me from the sea before I could drown. Before that, I couldn't tell you." A flash of Faith's malicious face and the glint of her dagger surged through her mind. Angel's dramatic eyes in no terms telling her that they were doomed before she fazed from their existence broke her heart. She felt all of her defensive resolve crumbling and looked down, locking her arm around her legs again and pressing her forehead to her knees.

"She is no harm to us," Erchirion finally spoke, calculating eyes searching the unfazed face of the woman before them.

"Nay," the man finally said, lowering her sword. "Nor do I believe… however… is there an army following you?"

She shook her head slowly. "No," she sighed. "Nobody here but me."

"She could have been held against her will," Erchirion said, speaking to the leader. "They may have cast her to sea. If she was wounded, this could explain why she cannot remember."

The man nodded thoughtfully before tilting his head, considering the woman again. Her shredded, water-logged clothes were neatly piled at the end of her bed. Wrapped in a simple white shift, she looked far smaller and younger than she truly was. "Have they hurt you?"

She could feel her eyes tear up as she saw the look on Faith's face, the one that held triumph because she was doing what no vampire or demon could before. "Yes," she whispered.

"That is _enough_," the woman snapped, reappearing suddenly and appealing to the leader with her hands on her hips. "She is no spy, my prince."

"We have seen many guises," the man replied, his eyes flickering at the woman by his side. "They are not above sending young women on the brink of death."

"If she is the forefront of some forsaken army, then perhaps you should be scouting the land instead of interrogating this frightened child," the woman retorted back. "Even if she knew a hundred thousand men armed to the teeth were behind her, why would she find reason to inform you?"

"She thinks we will kill her," Erchirion said quietly, turning to face his parents. "Perhaps if we can protect her—"

"We should protect her?" the man asked scornfully, staring at his son with disdain flashing behind his fair eyes. "We should protect a spy?"

"She is no spy," the woman said forcefully, taking her husband by the arm and pulling him aside.

"I am more willing to agree with her, father," another voice piped in as their son Amrothos came forward. "She is a fair judge of character."

"What say you?" Erchirion asked, turning to his mother.

"I feel no deception about her," the woman replied simply. "If she has betrayed us, we can easily rid of her; there is no doubt of that. But stay your ground and keep your minds wary," she said, warning her sons to the eminent danger about them. "She may not know of war, but war will come upon us soon enough."

"Lindariel," the man sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I must see this to my counsel."

"I understand," she said, reaching out to touch his face. "We should allow her to rest here, Imrahil. If she has a story to tell, we will ensure she is protected ere she tells it."

"I concur," Elphir said, joining the rest of his family. "She looks but a child."

"As I have said earlier," Imrahil replied, raising his voice, "they are not above sending one to us on the brink of death. Or have we forgotten all we have lost falling prey to their traps?"

There was a moment of silence as all took in his statement, knowing full well that they had lost many of Gondor's finest fighting off the enemy after a ruse such as this one. The enemy to the south in Harad had used children to distract the soldiers, knowing that Gondor would waste no time in their compassion.

"I will bring this before my counsel," Imrahil said, glancing at his family about him. "Disperse the others, my son. Lindariel, see to her needs. If she requests food and drink, see to it that she is taken care of. If she asks to leave, however—"

"I will ensure she remains here," Lindariel said sternly. "I will not allow her to leave."

"I, too, will remain," Erchirion spoke up.

"Yes, you will, _Erchie_," Amrothos snorted in amusement. "Have you been making nice with our guest?"

"I know only her name," Erchirion replied honestly. "I do not think she will depart, father. I do not believe she has anywhere else to go."

"Nevertheless, we must use caution," Imrahil said as his sons left, escorting his other knights from the room and pushing them back to the main corridor outside the healing room. He turned to his wife and drew her aside, speaking to her in terms only she would understand. "If our son is to answer her questions, please ensure he does not speak too fondly. He has a habit of speaking more than necessary."

"I will."

His lips turned upwards and instantly the dark look melted from his face, taking on a soft, loving look. "You have done yourself well, finding a new guest to brighten our quarters."

"If she does not first throw herself o'er the balcony, we could consider her a guest," Lindariel teased. "Go. See your counsel and return with word. I will not hold her in my healing room forever."

"I will," he said quietly, glancing down and staring at their enjoined hands. "As for Lothíriel…"

"She will be curious, but we will contain her."

"It is hard to contain her," Imrahil said, unable to fully hide a fond smirk. "She will wish to… _entertain_… our guest."

"Perhaps we should let her. Our daughter would be in no immediate danger," Lindariel reminded him. "Companionship may be necessary to open her up to us."

He brought their hands up to his lips and pecked hers before releasing them. "It shall be done. I will return soon. See to our guest."

She smiled softly as her husband turned and walked away, bringing Elphir and Amrothos with him. When her gaze drifted back to the girl, she saw Erchirion sitting next to the girl and helping her settle in. A different thought suddenly occurred to her as she watched this exchange. There was a certain fondness there. Erchirion always had the compassionate spirit. But the girl seemed receptive to his nature. He wasn't going to question her motives or call her on her innocence. He was going to be there at her side helping her lay down and offering her food and drink. As Erchirion moved away, her eyes turned curiously to the girl. She was looking after the young man with the strangest look on her face.

"Do you need anything?"

"No," the girl replied, taking great effort to look at her. "I think I have everything I need."

x-x-x

Even as the men deliberated on the fate of the young woman to the council, Lindariel and her son Erchirion stayed by the young woman in the healing room. She went between fits of boredom and asking questions to demanding something called a television and room service. She appeared to eat little of the plate Erchirion had prepared for her, saying that she was something called a vegetarian now that she had smelled the rather large portions of roast boar he had brought. As night approached, Lindariel sent Erchirion to rest and took over the duties herself. She re-wrapped the young woman's arm again despite the fact that there was only a little swelling remaining. When she brought up the subject, the young woman closed her mouth and looked stoically away, refusing to answer the question. Once her task was done, the girl seemed to drift off to sleep.

Lindariel collected the plate and pitcher, moving off to clear the things away. She refilled the jug with water and set a cleansing bowl with fresh oils and water, putting it on the table next to her cot. She blew out the lanterns, leaving only the one near her bed aflame. The candle set off a fiery light, casting shadows around the large room. It was cold again, as it was nearly Spring and the winter had been most brutal. She moved to the balcony and walked out, drawing her cloak tightly about her shoulders. The stars were particularly bright tonight, drawing her breath away. Glancing behind her, she felt disappointed the girl was asleep. The sky at night was truly something of wonder. The light of the Elves' most beloved star shone brightly over her head, peppering the sky with thousands of her siblings. She only wished the girl could see the sky. Even in their darkest time with the war and with the darkness surrounding Dol Amroth, jewel port city of Gondor, there was always something beautiful surrounding them.

She knew the hour was late and the time had come to rest herself. Turning back, she cast one last longing glance to the sky before retiring.

x-x-x

It was another night of restless sleep. Images of Faith, her parents, Angel, her friends and Giles waved in and out of her dreams. Angelus made his own appearance, telling her that she deserved to drown, wash up with the sea and be stuck in eternity among people more clueless than she was. Faith was telling her how weak she was. Xander was telling she wasn't good enough to be with the good guys. Her mother was telling her what a disappointment she was.

In hindsight, she was almost relieved when she felt something poking at her injured arm. She shifted slightly, a shaft of sunlight falling across her face. Buffy murmured to herself, snuggling deep under the warm covers. She didn't want to wake up yet. Her darkest dreams had faded and now it was just a relaxing sleep that made her even more exhausted. There was a sudden giggle before she felt the prod again.

"No," Buffy moaned, pushing the arm away and rolling over, curling her knees into her chest and sighing. She felt a weight at the back of the bed before she felt someone jump on her. "… the hell?" she murmured, rolling over and hearing a shriek. There was the sound of someone falling onto the floor and then more giggling. "Who's there?"

The giggling grew louder. Forcing her eyes open, Buffy moved until she was glancing over the side of her cot. There was a young girl in a blue dress and dark cloak spilled across the floor, giggling. She looked up and smiled brightly at the grumpy face glaring at her over the edge of the cot. "Hello," she said softly, shyly.

"Hi, there," Buffy said, rolling onto her stomach as the young girl seemed to pull herself together. "Who are you?"

"I am called Lothíriel," the girl replied with a giggle. "My brother was speaking of you."

"Your brother?" Buffy asked lightly, trying to keep her curiosity to a minimum. The girl nodded before rising to her feet. Buffy blinked as she stared up. The girl was obviously tall, probably about as tall as Buffy herself. "How old are you?"

"For fourteen years as the seasons change have I lived in this world," the girl said proudly. "Although more of the others than to this one."

"No, no," Buffy said with a teasing smile. "You should have said that no one asks a lady's age, no matter how young or cute she is."

The girl looked alarmed and blinked for a moment before shrugging. "I do not mind sharing my life years," she argued in a small voice. "My family finds pride in them."

"And so we should," a masculine voice cut in as a figure appeared from the archway. "Lothíriel… you were to meet Elphir early. Have you escaped our brother that quickly?"

"No, Erchirion, I will go. May I return later?" Instead of asking her brother this question, she glanced at the young woman in the cot.

"I think I'd like the company," Buffy said, adding a nod to appease the girl's sudden confused expression. "You can come back later."

Lothíriel glanced up to her brother and grinned, rushing off into the shadows giggling.

"Is she always so full of energy?" Buffy asked Erchirion as she fell back against her pillows.

"For her, this is rather tame," he teased, pausing a moment until she was relaxed. "She is curious, though. She has received that particular trait from our father."

"I think I'll look forward to seeing her later," Buffy replied after a moment. "She reminds me of someone I used to know." Myself, she silently added.

"My father has spoken with his counsel for most of the night," Erchirion said, launching straight in. Buffy sighed, realizing that the young man had come to talk business rather than appreciate her company. "They will come within minutes to tell you of their decision."

"Have you heard that decision?" Buffy asked, unable to look at him.

"I have not. But the others, they will come soon. Do not fear my father."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of him," she said, watching the confusion cross his face. Again, she was confusing them with her language. She was going to have to work on that.

"His decision may not appease you," he warned her before biding her farewell and disappearing with the promise of bringing back breakfast.

Buffy sighed inwardly and looked around. Even if the council's decision wasn't a good one, she was just going to have to work through things. Alone. This was part of the reason she had a Watcher. Good God was she missing him now.

x-x-x

Next: Buffy finds an unlikely ally in a confusing old world; Imrahil consults his counsel…

The next chapter is sort of… well, pleasant. It makes up for all the drama in this one. Reviewer comments have been added to the site. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Like Silver Glass**

**Rating**: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes; this is a dark drama. Though it does have happy moments, most of it is not a shiny, happy story.

**Teaser**: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

**Summary**: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

**Disclaimer**: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is our own.

**Notes**: He's home, he's home, my brother is home! Despite the good and bad, there is always hope for tomorrow!

x-x-x

**Chapter 5**

_By Katrina Claire_

x-x-x

Prince Imrahil moved throughout his quarters, his eyes seeking a figure that was usually lurking about this complex. When he did not readily find his counsel he found himself growing frustrated. He half-considered sending one of his hands after his counsel but decided against it. This was a matter he needed to bring to her alone.

He first recalled meeting his counsel. He was quite young when she first brought counsel to his father. She was from the Woodland Realm and had traveled to the Grey Havens with her kin. Unlike her kin, however, she did not board the ship to pass into the West. She remained behind and traveled the western borders of their world, ending up finally in Dol Amroth. There she had dwelt since. He knew little of her past save her father had been killed in a battle years before. She was wise and slow to trust and even less than forthcoming than he was in welcoming strangers to this land. He trusted her judgment above his own sons and for that, he was grateful. He really needed her counsel now when figuring out what to do with his wife's newest pet project his family had been dragged into.

"What concerns you, my Prince?" a voice asked softly from behind him. Imrahil turned to see the figure moving behind him. As always, she appeared curious. She was always curious as to the dealings of men and war. Perhaps because she had served in Lindon for many years did she forget the trials of her own people. Her own father had died at the War of the Last Alliance along with much of his army.

"I have a matter which concerns me greatly," Imrahil replied, sitting at his table. The maiden followed him, sitting across. "A girl was brought to us. She hails from some distant land. Her skin is dark, but she is fair. She cowers at the might of my knights. She was gravely wounded by now sustains but a scratch. Ai, the fortunes of my people long since gone… what evil does this girl possess? We must know, for if she is advancement of some army…"

"She came alone, you said?" the Elf maiden replied, undercutting his words. "Where is she?"

"She's in the halls of healing, under the care of my son Erchirion and of Lindariel."

"You are kind to take such a burden," she replied. "Though one can be dangerous, did you sense deception from her?"

"I am not certain as to what I sense from her," Imrahil said with frustration. "We have seen this deception before."

"I sense nothing of danger," the Elf maiden said. "I feel frustration and anger… the anger runs deep. It is not against you or your family, my Prince. This anger is justified by reason, for vengeance."

"You have not laid eye nor hand on her," Imrahil murmured. "Surely you cannot sense just this—"

"I feel this and more," she said, smiling slightly at the expression on his face. "I will see her. I _must _see her. How long has she been—"

"Mere days," Imrahil sighed. "Already she has confounded my son, charmed her way to him."

"That you have not seen before," the Elf teased.

Imrahil rolled his eyes towards her. "It is my wish to know of her purpose here."

"Why do you assume that all men, or women for this case, have a purpose to be anywhere?" she asked him. "Too long would you assume her purpose was for evil, but what if there was little purpose at all? She came to seek your protection, perhaps. She has forgotten who she is, maybe. You cannot reason with the logic that she brings evil. You will tear yourself apart with those thoughts. Have you not thought to welcome her to Dol Amroth? Have you a name for her or is she stranger to Gondor now?"

"You speak much, but you do not know the evils I have faced," Imrahil responded.

"I have seen many evils, my Prince," the Elf replied, darkness falling before her bright eyes. "When Sauron's strength was fullest, I saw those evils. For many years I watched my people suffer and die…" No sooner had the darkness come did it pass. "You must have faith, my Prince. Not every guest brings evil, least of all a woman."

"He has used women against us before," Imrahil reminded her. "You served my father. You know of the circumstances."

'I do, but I will not be quick to judge," the Elf pressed, rising to her feet. "Hope has forsaken these lands. They grow weak like the men who carry the burden upon their shoulders. Not everything must be in darkness."

"Where are you off to?" he asked, hiding his laughter as the Elf moved to the doorway.

"I have a guest to visit," she murmured, turning back to face him. "I will judge for myself on this new threat, my Prince."

x-x-x

Buffy was beyond bored, lying in her cot. She thought about moving around, but in this room there were just more cots and more tables with more medicines and more candles. The deck beyond the archways was set several hundred feet above the ground, so leaping seemed a foolish thing to do. Instead she remained inside, her thoughts darkening.

At first, there was frustration. She was trapped in a land of knights and swords of some Old Age. It wasn't something she understood. It was something she did not expect, however. She was stuck here. There was likely no way home.

Those thoughts led to darker thoughts of anger. Faith had done this to her because Buffy had beaten her. Now Buffy couldn't help her friends. Faith was there with them. For all she knew, the Mayor had ascended and was now controlling the world as a demon. Her friends were likely dead. Her mother was likely nothing more than ground-up pulp. She had no way to help them. She had no way to be certain. These thoughts led to feeling helpless.

But then the rage started. Faith had done the worst possible thing by hurting her like this. She had tried to drown her _again_ and that was simply not acceptable. She had abandoned her to death. In Slayer code, it was unforgivable and inexcusable. She longed to be back where she belonged instead of feeling trapped and helpless where she was suspected by everyone and everything as being a traitor, a harbinger of things to come.

Even as she saw red in her anger, there was a spot of brightness. Her head turned and she blinked. In that instance, the darkness faded and she saw a figure walking towards her, clad in a dark cloak and walking stick. Long trails of golden hair contrasted brightly with the dark material as it shimmered. Even with what little skin Buffy could see, it radiated a bright glow. The figure stopped and a feminine hand reached up to pull the hood from her head.

"Peace between us this morn," the figure breathed as she stepped closer, setting her walking stick aside.

Buffy stared at her uncertainly. She felt her Slayer senses tingle to life, alerting her that this was no mere human being. In fact, this figure just screamed good-will and no evil. "Who are you?" she asked softly. She didn't want to come across as terrified and froze her features. Had she been scared, she would have run across the room.

"You speak the common tongue," the woman replied, pleased. It was then Buffy noticed her ears. They were larger than most and tipped. The woman seemed aristocratic somehow… taller, more steadfast on her feet. Her posture was near perfect and she stood with the confidence of a woman and a warrior. Buffy felt as though her breath had been taken away. She didn't need to speak with a group of men with swords to explain her point across. She knew a warrior when she saw one. Despite her bright, cerulean eyes, there was a darkness there not even immortality could hide. "This will make it simple."

"What will make this simple?" Buffy asked warily, eyeing the woman with caution. Despite the fact she seemed a warrior, it didn't make it easier to confess her identity.

The woman sat on a stool. "Do you not know what I am?"

"No."

"They call me Neäni," the woman replied. "I am of the Silvan in the old forests of Greenwood. No longer are they called such since the darkness there has endured. My true name has been lost for years."

"How old are you?" Buffy asked, interrupting her. For some reason, the woman looked her age. But there was something in this grace and poise that spoke from years of experience.

"I must say I look young for my age," Neäni replied with a soft smile. "My life is from the Second Age, but my will has endured to the Third Age. I did not take the passage west when all my kin had left. It was my choice to remain behind and for that I spent many a year in Lindon with the shipwright. I serve now in Gondor the Prince of Dol Amroth."

Buffy let her words sink in and nodded. It would make sense that the man who interrogated her was a prince.

"I have been asked by my Prince to ascertain your allegiance," Neäni said, moving her chair closer to Buffy's bedside.

"I'm not evil," Buffy said in a woolen voice.

"Perhaps not, but there are greater men who follow behind you who would question those words," Neäni replied, reaching for Buffy's hand. The young woman pulled away. "Nay, my lady. Please, allow me this one courtesy. _Telin_ _le thaed._"

"What?" Buffy asked, not understanding what the woman had said. The language sounded beautiful, but she had no clue what the words meant. Without a fight, however, Neäni took her hand and held it clasped between hers. Buffy was surprised; the woman was clad in a thick cloak as though chilled but her hands were warm and comforting.

"That is the language of my people, of the Elves," Neäni replied. "You awoke in the waters, yes?"

"Yes," Buffy confirmed. "I was drowning and somehow I washed up on shore."

"You have a strong heart," Neäni complimented her with a shadow of a smile.

"I should have been stronger," Buffy said bitterly, earning a sharp look from the woman before her.

"What say you?"

"I should have been stronger," Buffy repeated, fire in her gaze as she met Neäni's. "I shouldn't have let her do this to me. I should have moved, or jumped, or something… she… she…"

Neäni released her hand and sat back, curiosity flaring in her eyes. "Speak."

"There was a…foe," Buffy began, trying to simplify her words enough for them to understand. "She was trying to hurt me, trying to kill me. I tried to fight her back and I nearly won but she used… she had magic."

"Magic?" Neäni said lightly, the shadow passing before her eyes. "What magic did she possess?"

"The magic to drop me in the sea to drown me," Buffy whispered, tears of anger flaring to life within her. "But I should have been stronger! I should have moved or something to get away from her! I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be there! Everything is falling apart for them now because I'm not there!"

Neäni appeared nonplussed from Buffy's outburst and regarded the young woman calmly. "Do you speak of the south?"

"No," Buffy replied. "I speak of something else entirely."

"Do you speak of the future?"

"If I did, would I be crazy?" Buffy asked her, already anticipating the answer.

"Nay," Neäni replied with a frown. "I see no deception in your eyes, but anger. Tell me, have you a name?"

"Buffy," she finally said after a long moment. She had been expecting the woman to laugh at her, probably scorn her. She hadn't expected her less-than-enthusiastic response to Buffy's confession. "My name is Buffy."

"You are no longer a stranger to me, Buffy," Neäni said kindly. "Yet you are afraid."

"Of course I'm scared," Buffy said, looking disdainfully at the Elf woman. "What do you think? I was there, I was fighting for my life and now I'm here and I'm fighting for my life. This is a different fight. I've done all I can to convince you I'm not evil. I'm not! If I was evil, I would have done something evil, right? What… what's going to happen to me?"

This is what Buffy was scared of the most. She was frightened that the moment she dropped into this world, they would slay her away from it. She thought of defending herself, but then she would be evil. She wasn't bad. She was never meant to be the bad one.

"_Boe le henio_," Neäni said gently, "what you must understand is… I have no power in this land. I only serve as counsel to Prince Imrahil. If you are a threat to him, it is likely you will be returned to the sea, cast in and left to drown." Seeing the light in the woman's eyes, it unsettled her. "_Uich gwennen na 'wanath ah na dhín. An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen._"

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, slightly startled, "but that language… it's beautiful."

"This is the tongue of my fathers," Neäni replied. "I have just said that you are not bound to the darkness of this world."

"You could have just said that," Buffy smirked.

"I do not mean to quarry with words," Neäni advised. "I mean to speak my tongue which you should understand."

"That's just it," Buffy said quietly. "All day I've been hearing people screaming at me in a tongue… err, language they call common. But it isn't common, not to me. Where I come from… I guess you could say our language has degraded to petty slang and misused adjectives. I never knew that things could be this simple. And you… you have to go and make it complicated."

"There are things about this world you must understand, Buffy," Neäni said. "The people of Dol Amroth have long been protected from evil as this land is above the sea and far from the eyes of those who seek to destroy it. But this world is not a happy world. These people are not a trusting people. They have seen much of war and evil in their time and now, in their greatest hour, their strength wanes. My people once held great strength in this world but now my people leave Arda for the West."

"So… there's war," Buffy said, attempting to understand what the woman was explaining to her. "And these people have been betrayed before."

"There is war and darkness and death," Neäni said calmly. "These people have been betrayed to their death."

Suddenly Buffy knew where this conversation was headed. "I have no intention of killing anyone," she said hastily, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. "My only wish is for me to get home."

"That is but impossible now," Neäni sighed. "The magic that once bound this world is held in evil. Whichever magic let you pass to this world was created in darkness."

"I think I understand," Buffy replied. "Which leads me to my other question. What is going to happen to me now?"

"You will live," Neäni said simply. "There is no life within the Hall of Healing, less you spent your life in healing."

"Not my intention," Buffy rolled her eyes.

"This city is simple, but offers much," Neäni replied. "You will find your way, little one."

"Little one?" Buffy asked, her eyebrows rising.

"You are small, but your heart is true. I will speak of this to my Prince and he will have his final word. Now, you should rest, for you have a life to begin."

As Neäni left, Buffy stared after her in confusion. So, she wasn't evil. This woman… this Elf, or whatever she was, had told her that. She also told her that she was going to live in this city. And do what, exactly? Buffy knew her hobbies and skills were few outside the realm of destroying demons and vampires. She was a student, yes, but her interests flailed from there. She doubted that Dol Amroth had malls readily available and doubted even more the existence of night clubs and dance parties. There was nothing for her, here. There was nothing at all, save wandering the streets aimlessly and seeing nothing in return.

What was going to happen if she was granted her freedom?

x-x-x

"My Prince?"

Imrahil glanced up from the table he was seated at, his daughter by his side. "Lothíriel, will you go? I must speak with my counsel."

"Yes, father," Lothíriel said and, glancing back at Neäni with laughter, ran off into the darkness. Imrahil waited his counsel to enter as she took the seat abandoned by his daughter.

"What did your elven eyes see?"

"She is true to her word," Neäni replied. "She speaks the truth that she means you no harm. She spoke of her own betrayal which has led her to you. She is confused by your ways, it seems, and longs for home."

"Did she speak of this home?"

Neäni shook her head slightly and glanced away. "She fears what her freedom may bring. She longs for order but I sense she has nothing if she remains here."

"Could you imagine a better alternative?" Imrahil asked. "I could send her to Denethor in Minas Tirith."

"You will not," Neäni snapped back. "That man will only seek to harm her and for now, her mind is willing to learn. She found my tongue beautiful."

Imrahil snorted and turned away, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Shall I grant her freedom, then?"

"The choice is yours alone, my Prince. But I sense the need for caution. She is unsteady and unstable. If she were granted her freedom, she could easily pass from this city and fall into enemy hands."

"Do you believe she would leave these walls if given the choice?"

"I do."

"Then there's nothing else for it," Imrahil replied with a heavy tone. "I must speak with Lindariel."

"What will you do?"

"What choice have I?" Imrahil asked in a weakened tone. "I will invite her in my home."

"A wise choice, my lord," Neäni beamed up at him.

x-x-x

"Aiya!"

Buffy turned from her dark thoughts to see the same little girl from earlier standing at the end of her bed. Before she could protest, the girl bounced onto the end of the bed on her knees, giggling. "Hi, there," she said, pushing aside her blankets and moving to the little girl. The girl made a face and waved a hand in front of her nose.

"You need a bath, lady."

"I do, don't I?" Buffy asked with a sigh, staring at her grungy hair. She longed to run her fingers through silk, but the oils and grime collected seemed to make her hair heavy. "Are you sure your parents are okay with you being in here."

"Oh-kay?" the girl asked in confusion.

"Are you allowed to be in here?" Buffy asked, amending her words.

"No," the girl drew out the word, ending it with more laughter. Buffy found herself smiling despite her grim new outlook on life. The little girl was adorable. Her hair was midnight black but her eyes reminded her of the sea. She was tall, too, nearly as tall as herself if not taller. "But mum will not mind. She likes you."

"That's good to know," Buffy sighed, rising to her feet and stretching. Her skin was even looking waxy from lack of cleanliness. After seeing the Elf who simply radiated clean, she felt positively trashy.

"You speak silly," the girl replied, bouncing off the bed. Now standing next to Buffy, the top of her head came to Buffy's chin. "My name is Lothíriel."

"I'm Buffy," she said, extending her hand. The girl stared at it for a moment before looking questionably up at Buffy. "Oh, the hand, you shake it."

"Why?" Lothíriel asked, making no motion to do so.

"I don't know," Buffy replied after a beat. "I guess that's how people greet one another. How do your people greet one another?"

"Commonly with swords," Lothíriel replied, taking Buffy's wrist and shaking her hand hesitantly.

"Hmm, sounds like my kind of people," Buffy grinned. After a moment, the girl stepped away and walked to the archways, staring out. It was in that moment that Buffy saw the maturity in her face and realized that this was no little girl. "How old are you?"

"I have fourteen life years with many more to come," Lothíriel said, glancing over her shoulder with a shy smile.

"You're fourteen?" Buffy asked, blinking. "Wow…"

"Ada tells me that I grow too quickly," Lothíriel's smile grew. "He tells me to live my childhood now for when I am of age, I will be somber and old and willing."

"I highly doubt that," Buffy said, folding her arms to her chest. "You've got a lot of spunk."

"Spunk?" Lothíriel asked, confused. "Your words confuse me, Buffy. You speak far more than you need to."

"I like words," Buffy said defensively and was about to retort when someone cleared their throat behind them.

"Ai," Lothíriel muttered, her face falling. "Father..."

"When I said for you to go, Lothíriel," Imrahil said, stepping into the hall and glancing around cautiously as though he expected the walls to collapse in on them, "I never meant for you to come here."

"I am sorry, Adar," she said, that shy smile back on her face. "But she is a guest and we are kind to guests, are we not?"

His face seemed to relax as she regarded his daughter. "We do. In fact, we are so kind to guests that sometimes we release them from this Hall." His eyes turned to Buffy, who was staring at him carefully. "My counsel has informed me that you do not pose a threat to my family. Nevertheless, it would seem wise to offer lodging and perhaps guidance while you live in this city. We ask that you stay within the walls, but you are free to leave this Hall."

Lothíriel gasped and turned to her father. "Ada, you said that you would—"

"Yes, he did," came Lindariel's voice as she rushed in behind her husband, glancing at him in annoyance. "Buffy, we have prepared a room for you. Consider this a gift in exchange for our… pleasantries."

"Well," Buffy faltered.

"Have you friend or family with whom you could stay with?" Lindariel asked her.

"No…"

"Have you a safe house to sleep at and food to eat?"

"Not really," Buffy admitted, her face turning red.

"Do you know that you are in Gondor, a large country and the land between here and Minas Tirith in is enemy hands?"

"No."

"Then you shall remain here," Lindariel surmised. "Had you a proper place to sleep and rest, I would have released you from my care. Lothíriel, if you could show her the guest room, I will have a bath prepared." She turned to her husband who stood there gnashing his teeth and looking mutinous. Her lips twitched in amusement. "Imrahil, darling, come with me." The man sighed and followed behind his wife without a word. Buffy stood for a moment, confused as all hell when she heard a squeal and two skinny arms flung themselves around her.

"A sister have I asked for and a sister have I received!"

"Oh," was all Buffy could muster.

The next few minutes was a whirlwind. She left the archway and the Hall of Healing behind only to find herself in a huge stone structure with old marble floors, statutes in every hallway and doors made from incredibly old and heavy wood.

"That room will be yours once it is prepared," Lothíriel said, nodding at one set of double-doors near the end of a corridor. "My room is there." She pointed down the corridor towards a fork. "This is the room for your bath." Pressing her ear to the heavy wood, she frowned. "Naneth speaks… your bath may not be ready." Her eyes suddenly glistened as she viewed a set of doors at the end of the fork. "Come with me."

Buffy, who had been unable to speak for the past half hour, followed dumbly behind her.

"This is the best," Lothíriel said, turning to Buffy with a keen smile. Buffy tried to force one on her own, but Lothíriel frowned. "You are not pleased to be here."

"I'm just… a little overwhelmed."

"A little?" Lothíriel accused, her eyes darkening. "My parents have done you a great service. They have taken you in. Would you rather be a beggar, pleading for space to sleep with the dogs? Would you rather live on the ships at the mercy and amusement of lonely men? The life chosen for you is much more than the life you could choose for yourself. This land is kind compared to others. Come," she said, pushing the door open with her hip, "this you must see."

The door led to a deck and the deck was a precipice. Buffy followed her out, blinking into the sunlight. Her eyes quickly grew to the light and she looked around in amazement. The air was warm on her skin and the sunlight seemed to revitalize her. Her lips parted into a smile as she saw white birds streaking across an endless blue sky scattered with wispy clouds. She breathed in the salty air and closed her eyes against the endless sun. The sea which had nearly claimed her life remained in the distance, stretching to the horizon and beyond. Houses with thatched roofs lined the streets below which were made of cobblestones. She heard the sounds of laughter and shouting, all in a language she didn't understand but suddenly wasn't too unwilling to learn.

Next to her, Lothíriel smiled at her expression. "This amazes you?" she asked softly.

"This isn't bad at all," Buffy admitted, shaking her head as she felt tears misting to her eyes. For a moment, she could pretend that none of this was real. But who was she kidding? Of all places to end up, this wasn't so bad.

For a moment, she could even call it home.

x-x-x

Next: Montage

_Note: I never realized how slowly this story moves. I was just trying to set up this back story when I realized it could all be done in the future. So instead of forcing you through more chapters of this ho-hum lifestyle, I'm adding that this next chapter is definitely the last of the angst-free because after that… bring on the pain. I haven't written anything painful in a long while, so this I'm looking forward to._

Thanks for reading!


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